


Beautifully Broken

by Mirkys_Concubine



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers Tower, BAMFs, F/M, Gothic, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Pastels, Relapsing, Strong Female Characters, Suicidal Thoughts, Tattoos, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:54:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26534680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirkys_Concubine/pseuds/Mirkys_Concubine
Summary: She had been the odd one in the group. The interloper. A soldier that had been added to their group courtesy of a favor Steve would be the first one to admit he had been part of the problem with the team accepting her.**** is short for y/n - reader insert - also warning for self harm and mentions of child sexual abuse but there is NO details.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 136





	1. Hush-Hush

**Author's Note:**

> Background:  
> **** is of Spanish decent but it's not a big thing and hardly noticeable but she has tattoos and lives the pastel goth lifestyle with colorful hair. There is no descriptions of sexual assault or self harm, just the scars leftover from both and a relapse of the harming. 💜💜💜

> “You are not your past. You are the warrior that rose above it to become the example of someone who didn’t just survive, but thrived in creating the most beautiful last chapter of their life. ”
> 
> SHANNON L. ALDER

* * *

**Beautifully Broken**

✖Part 1✖

It was one of those things they didn't talk about. Her scars. She presumed they didn't know of them and they pretended they didn't feel the faint raised flesh hidden beneath the art that decorated her body.

A mix of innocent beauty and the skilled art of her cultures homage to death.

She had been the odd one in the group. The interloper. A soldier that had been added to their group courtesy of a favor Steve would be the first one to admit he had been part of the problem with the team accepting her.

The 21st century was weird.

There was still cultural references he and his partner were struggling with. Technology, mannerisms, speech, and the way woman flaunted themselves. Now Steve didn't have virgin ears or eyes. He and Bucky had, had their fair share of adventures when it dealt with woman but getting used to someone comfortable in their sexuality and body that wasn't on the internet was... Startling.

It wasn't her clothes - although they were oddly tantalizing - her lack of decorum in social structure he wasn't used to.

She had no filter.

She didn't lie and was at times harsh when others spent their time tip toeing. It was something that Natasha of all people seemed to enjoy above all things and dancing. Only while Natasha had the moves of a ballerina **** was a heathen.

It took a lot for Bucky to become flustered and **** had easily turned the man an interesting shade of fluster as she danced on a pole much to Natasha's interest.

Still.

**** was quiet. She kept to herself, trained mostly on her own, spoke when spoken too, she was a colorful lawn ornament that was as explosive as she was silent.

A land mine.

She wore her jewellery like armor, her clothes expressed what she couldn't with her dark and pastel shades, and her tattoos hid the self-hatred.

Steve could remember the first time she had lost her cool. The first time they saw the glimpse of her insanity and weren't they all a tad insane as well. They were murderers, assassin's, many things, but a kill was a kill. Very rarely they took enjoyment in the act, their enemies long since gone that it was startling to see **** laugh one minute and the next pick up a bat and swing it. There was no time to process the absurdity of it.

She had been wearing a pink overalls with a lacy bra and pink shoes that went along with her black fish nets. It was adorable, odd, but adorable. They had been called to handle a situation and their target had taken one look at **** and ran.

The target didn't flinch under Bucky's glare. The man didn't blanch when Natasha shot a warning shot at the mans feet. No. The target was mid monologue when a familiar bell from a bicycle had broken through the tense atmosphere and the man had looked up and at ****.

Her expression was blank as she peddled, her lavender hair flowing around her like some pastel goth fairy. The man ran and they'd let him because **** was right there to kick the man down.

Would it have mattered if they were surrounded by civilians? Did it matter that SHIELD secured the area? **** had waited for the man to scramble to his feet and she spoke to him as if he were a friend. She was friendly. Brushing the dirt off the mans pants as the man pleaded and begged.

A SHIELD agent had come forward to take the man into custody, they all watched, wary, as the target was being read his rights and a few more agents had turned their backs as if they **knew**. Another agent had been the one to hand her the bat. It was a dark shade of pink and she kissed it leaving behind an imprint of her lip gloss and held it as if she were inspecting it for defects.

The agent that had been reading the targets rights paused and pointed over said mans shoulders and the man had looked. It was natural. Instinct. 

What wasn't natural was the sound of wood meeting skull.

What wasn't natural was the hit after hit after hit to the dead man that followed. Clint had turned away, Natasha had stared, her brow arched, Bucky's eyes remained blank but Steve knew that his partner was as stunned as him.

They'd all seen shit in their life. They each had blood on their hands. Yet watching someone they worked beside, shared meals with, just stand there and giggle.

It was madness.

Maybe that was when Bucky fell in love.

Finally someone more fucked up than him?

It wouldn't be until later when **** marches to her bedroom for a shower that Fury let's them know through a conference call that their target was in fact a well-known human trafficker and peddled child porn. A man who was known to pay his way out of trouble and someone **** had long since threatened to kill regardless of consequence.

There was more instances of her less than stellar record of sanity. So many that Steve had FRIDAY set aside a file so he could bring it to the Director's attention. **** was a security risk. She may be pretty in her own odd way, she might have been an asset to the team with a well-rounded set of skills but... That wasn't enough to squash the unease he felt every mission they did together.

His inability to **not** stalk her every mood while on the field, there was a worry he didn't feel with his lover or any other member of the team. Steve felt he was making the right decision... For his team... For himself... To recommend **** to be terminated from the team. 

She wasn't an asset.

She was an unnecessary distraction.

Fury had merely given him a look that was blank and made him question himself. The last two sentences had made the man shift where he sat. He was taller, eye cold, dangerous even.

"You're dismissed Captain."

_Captain_... Steve made to take the file but Fury's hand had moved to settle atop it and for a moment their gazes met and Steve left with the distinct feeling he had somehow left a bad impression. As if **he** was the one that had disappointed the director and not **** who was all but a rogue agent.

72 hours later Steve hadn't seen ****. No one had. The only person he told about the meeting was of course Bucky who had remained quiet over it. The man was a silent pillar of support and Steve couldn't shake the feeling that he made a mistake.

Through Clint who was resting had messaged him that **** room was being emptied by SHIELD agents - young fresh-faced interns to be precise. Once the room had been cleared out of clothes, personal memorabilia, and linen another set of people arrived to redecorate the room.

Clint had remained on the sofa watching the quiet group of kids (compared to him they were kids) lug in creams and neutral linens and a workout set while also removing several pieces of furniture.

Dinner had been a quiet affair. The television was switched to a movie and the hour might have been late but they each were quietly waiting.

The elevator doors opened with a quiet swish and they each were drawn to the noise and the woman who walked in, arms heavy with bags.

**** was a quiet storm of eccentrics and accessories. Her clothe's most times matched her hair and tattoos matched her creative use of makeup when she wasn't on a mission or workout.

The woman who walked out of the elevator was **** but, hair dark and pulled back in a bun, her clothes were black and covered her from the neck down, gloves covered her hands and a headphones were settled over her ears. "Avengers." Her voice was neutral and her usual smile was gone replaced by a neutral expression and a coldness that was a reminder of their first few days together.

Steve was quick to notice the quiet. The stillness. The detachment from himself and everyone. Whatever comradery **** had held with every member of the team had been snuffed.

She didn't smile.

She didn't eat with the team.

There was meetings and the occasional walk through their living quarters and the proper greetings but conversation was stilted. Steve didn't have the heart to admit fault when the others asked "What happened". 

He was a coward.

Black was her wardrobe of choice.

Long sleeves, long pants, socks, gloves, the only deviation were the beige bandages wrapped around her arms that hid her tattoos if she wore t-shirts. Makeup covered all visible tattoos from the collar of her shirt and up where a few had decorated her temple.

**** looked normal.

She was a soldier.

Quiet.

Efficient.

Obedient.

Steve **hated** himself.

She didn't complain, didn't offer suggestions, just moved with instructions and ever since those elevator doors opened she never spoke his name.

"Sir" and "Captain".

Not Steve. Not Roger's.

Tony had been the one to notice her injury later during a mission. The blood smeared on the wall, it dripping down her arm. **** refused to remove her jacket or vest. "I'm fine. Bullet went straight through."

Tony had done his best to lend a hand to stop the bleeding but **** stubbornly refused and insisted Tony leave her be.

For two weeks **** was benched and she spent them outside the tower and Steve had come clean to the team.

It was ugly. It was painful. He needed to **fix** this mess.

TBC - 1/4


	2. Two Steps Back and a Kick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a relapse and mention of child abuse.

> _“Courage does not always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying,’I will try again tomorrow.’” — Maru Anne Radmacher_

* * *

**Beautifully Broken**

✖Part 2✖

🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸

Sam had watched from the shadows.

The television was off and he had just woken up from sleeping on the couch - again - and had remained quiet.

**** was exhausted. Her hair was a mess, her pants were misshapen with one leg rolled up sloppily while the other dragged under her bare foot, it was the most skin he had seen since... Well... Since shit got twisted.

The tattoos stood out under the dull lighting of the kitchen. Hot water in a mug and a Lipton tea bag which sat on the island as **** rummaged through the fruit bowl for a handful of grapes and Sam was for once at a loss for words.

Angry lines cut lengthwise in a blank spot on her arm. They were short and straight. Raw. They stood out to Sam and the man couldn't forgive himself for not *seeing* even though logically he shouldn't have known.

Wouldn't have known if he didn't fall asleep on the couch or woken up.

✖

Bucky noticed the small things.

He was a trained soldier who knew all the ticks of his team. He knew how they fought, what moves they favored, their shooting stance, he **knew** them.

**** was different.

It took him a long time to fine tune his assessment of her. Even then it changed from time to time as her mood was as fluid as the ocean. Stability only came with his partners interference and **** switch of personality.

It was odd.

Creepy even.

To go from crazy to stillness was... Jarring. Now she was predictable, she was as moldable as clay, she killed without discretion, when needed, when directed, and she did it with a detachment Bucky could recall that was similar to himself.

**** backed down when directed. She didn't roll her eyes or argue with orders. She didn't cuss or mutter over the com. There was a blissful silence and clipped respectful words and used their proper code names and not random shit that would come to her.

It should have been perfect.

The Winter Soldier respected and worked well with ****. Her lethal one minded attention to the mission was refreshing and he didn't have to worry about her. Technically he didn't have to watch her, to catalogue every minute detail, to track her smell, to tap into her vitals but he had unlimited access thanks to her chip and apple watch that was hot wired to his own nifty gadgets.

Tony wasn't the only one able to tinker with technology. Many people felt indebted to Bucky - or fearful - and so it was easy to get **that** access.

Technically Bucky didn't have to worry but he was. Obsessively worried that was. The others might never notice but Bucky did.

He noticed the weight loss.

He noticed the tired eyes and heavy silent sigh's, the twitches when her stillness was too much, too long.

He noticed the lost looks and the way her eye lashes blinked furiously at times.

He noticed the wet tear tracks at the most random of moments, especially on the field. They were hidden behind goggles and face masks, face down, face turned away, the random rubbing of her eyes that could be put off as tiredness but Bucky could remember her dirt stained somber face and the hot tear tracks that cut through the grime. He was the only one who saw because **** was good at masking the damage.

**** was good at her hiding her pain. She never complained. She didn't sob. She made nary a sound. She like the rain though. She loved to stand outside during a downpour and he never pointed out how red her eyes were when she came back inside.

Bucky would never tell anyone that when she did break it was in the shower. She thought no one would hear her but Bucky did. It was... Her room wasn't properly sound-proofed and he didn't make a habit to tune up his hearing but he's also sure that if he could hear her broken cries that Steve could too.

It killed him. The urge to hold her and kill all the fucker's that made her feel like **that** was intense.

It was another thing they didn't talk about.

Couldn't talk about.

Not when Steve felt responsible.

Not when they both had Sam approach them about what he had seen, memories of when they pieced together what the scarring under her art work meant.

Bucky could recall the awkward conversation between the three - himself, Steve, and Sam - of a possible mission gone wrong and the veteran calmly explaining the nuances behind self-harm.

It was baffling and Bucky had spent ages surfing the internet wanting to understand why and then he finally breached that wall of 'coworker you just happen to want to fuck' to 'coworker you want as your lover'. So he delved deep into ****, past firewalls and sleuthed through cold hard facts that turned his stomach. It was yet another secret he would keep to himself, gladly, Steve was a sensitive soul.

Certain people should be eradicated without question and Bucky made a list. He had no problem doing so.

It didn't take Bucky too long to figure out **** wasn't coping well. She was favoring one arm over the other and switched weapons at times. **** switched her favored position, putting more weight on her _good_ leg, and though she was still as quick and agile Bucky noticed the limp she powered through.

Technically Bucky didn't have to worry. **** didn't miss. She followed orders. She was the first one to volunteer for missions, first one in, last one out. He didn't have to worry about her whereabouts. Bucky **always** knows where **** is.

She ran miles on the treadmill.

She swam laps at the gym.

She trained with an agent - never with them.

Her hobbies were her weapons and the shooting range.

There was no more worried nights like before. She didn't go out to clubs, she didn't bar hop, there was no bowling club, no random zoo visits, no volunteering at the soup kitchen, **** didn't go to Comic Con, she didn't linger in the kitchen and bake, she didn't leave random chocolates around the apartments to be found like a demented Easter hunt, **** didn't watch her anime with the tiniest of English subtitles...

Bucky isn't sure when he started to fall for ****. Steve liked to say it was when she showed how insane she could be when a baseball bat ended a pedophiles life. It was a beautiful deranged moment and Bucky could believe it as he had felt the intense need to defend her to the group that compared to him she was a snowflake. A Gothic inspired snowflake that melted into acid.

Sigh.

Falling back into his memories, Bucky would say everyone had noticed the anger yet no one pointed out the blood splatter or commented on how she picked up a stray tooth and pocketed it... maybe he was the only one who noticed **that**. Bucky knew for a fact he was the only one awake that night, in bed, Steve slumbering beside him, as **** had dialed number after number and telling people that their boogeyman was dead and she had killed him.

It was his fault.

His need to make sure she was _okay_ and not sniffling into her pillows or worse a night terror. He should have tubed down his hearing, not crank it up and nose into business that was not his to know... but he was grateful that he now _knew_ there was a reason for her madness. Shit like that would fuck up anyone and while he had gone through some sick shit he'd never... Steve had never... there had never been a situation like _that_.

Bucky never spoke a word. It was another secret he would keep from his Steve. It wasn't his secret. He wasn't meant to hear "He's dead. He can't hurt us anymore."

_**US**_.

It implied so much and Bucky hadn't want to put two and two together and get four but lieing to himself would be ridiculous. 

Shit like that left deep scars... was it any wonder that **** was borderline suicidal? Before she had toed the edges, one Gould say she was an adrenaline junky, but now? One couldn't help but notice the small things or maybe he was the only one to notice them?

He noticed how she was usually the first one to jump out of a plane - head first - and the last one to deploy their parachute. Her sleeping patterns changed and she would be up for 48 hours before crashing. Hard.

Death by exhaustion? Fatigue would be one way to keep the brain from thinking too much on shit? Maybe. Possibly.

**** Amazon account was riddled with anti-anxiety and anti-depression supplements. Melatonin patches for sleep were on automatic delivery while her wish list still carried the old her. Onsies to a coffin style jewelry box.

Bucky noticed how **beat** **** tended to wander around. The split lips, the bruising that weren't hidden behind makeup or clothes. Maybe she thought no one would care to notice, no one brought it up, the sparring with random agents usually left her with a win but he noticed how she would let them hit her.

Bucky didn't like the logic of: _if she couldn't cut then she'd allow herself to feel pain other ways_. Sam had quietly pointed out so maybe one person had noticed.

Pain brought that spark back. The **wam** telling the brain they were alive and not a zombie.

It was practically the only time they heard her laugh, the one time, a ruthless match. She was on the ground, teeth stained with blood, and the agent had backed away after several hits that left her on her back. Maybe he presumed **** would stay down?

The man didn't hold back his strength.

He was ordered not to.

Bucky had shared a look with Steve and Clint had taken several stuttered steps forward but **** was up and grinning. "Harder." She had demanded.

The agent hit harder.

Fought dirtier.

It was the closest to a potential loss and Bucky was sure the Agent had given in and stayed down.

They didn't hear her laugh again and it was... Maddening.

The Winter Soldier was content with how /easy the missions were with **** effectively cowed. Bucky was not. He didn't miss how **bloody** her hand to hand combat had taken. He couldn't ignore how difficult it was for **** to not duck or dodge a death hit.

Then other's had noticed. 

Steve and Tony had **seen**. A grenade had been tossed and like a fool **** had picked it up and tossed it right back. It exploded and she simply stood there, gun in hand, no cover, and let loose a round of ammunition and didn't miss.

Not once.

She piled the explosives in a neat pile, ordered them all to leave, and with a single gun shot lit the room to a blaze that they felt as they ran. It was the first time **** disregarded order.

The others would say it was because the target were known Black Market child traffickers. Bucky would agree but he wouldn't point out how borderline suicidal she was since she had nothing to lose.

While the others had _seen_ he was sure they wouldn't get it. Even Steve. His daft guilt ridden mate. 

TBC - 2/4


	3. Bang Bang the B*tch is Dead

> "You can pretend you're perfect all you want. Just remember some of us know the truth behind all your bullshit lies." - N/A

* * *

**Beautifully Broken**

**3**

  
Apologies were best done in person. With sincerity. Not on paper and typed because his hand writing was atrocious. Catching **** outside of assignments was quite difficult and Steve didn't know how to handle the one blank stare **** had graced him with.  
Her eyes were empty.  
They reminded him of when Bucky had first broken free from Hydra and **this** was his fault.  
It had taken him a while - much to Bucky's incitement - to admit that his actions were brash and misguided. Steve didn't truly believe **** wasn't an asset. She wasn't a distraction. He trusted her to have his back. His lover's back.  
Steve admitted that she was an Avenger.  
Yes she was _damaged_ but weren't they all?  
Yes she dressed in a way that made him take second and third looks.  
Yes he felt concern over her, different from how he felt with Natasha who was like a sister by this point.  
Yes he had been... Jealous over the attention she garnered when she went out in her short skirts and lacy bras she liked to wear as if it was an acceptable top with a cardigan.  
He had felt... threatened when he began to notice Bucky's attention focus on her. Unwilling to admit that he was also interested. Steve didn't want to be **that** territorial but watching her primp for dates and send winks to other agents left a bitter taste on his palette.  
It took locking them inside a quinjet for Steve to finally feel comfortable enough to face his mistakes.  
**** had rolled her shoulders and neck before calmly entering the over ride codes for the door. They wouldn't work, Tony was all for things to go back to how it used to be. "**** I need to talk to you."  
Her fingers jabbed at the pad again. Over and over until the screen went dark.  
"****." Her fist punched at the pad and she whirled around and Steve refused to fidget as her cold gaze pierced through him.  
"Speak Captain."  
"Steve."  
She blinked and with a forced ease settled her hand over her side arm. "You are my superior. Addressing you informally is a show of disrespect."  
"I'm only your superior while on the field ****." Steve pushed forward, "We're a team."  
Her brow twitched before smoothing over, "No. We're not." Steve made to speak but **** held up her hand and said, "I'm not part of your team Captain. I was never fit to be an Avenger. You said it yourself. I was a security risk and not someone who you trusted to watch your back with confidence like you held for everyone else. As my superior you assessed me as a _distraction_ to the greater good. You pointed out each of my flaws as is your right. You took your concerns to the Director who in turn did his job in terminating my contract with SHIELD." Steve felt something in him clench, "You and the others are a team, I'm a Contract Agent until a replacement can be filled. Calling you anything but Sir or Captain is grounds for immediate termination."  
"****?" What could he say? "I..."  
"Sir if you can please open the door. Anything more you need to say can be said with the Director present. It's improper for me to be secluded with my superior without a witness present."  
"Improper? I assure you **** I would never act _improper_ to a lady."  
**** bowed her head and lowered her eyes, it was an act of submission and Steve felt a bubble of annoyance. "My apologies Captain. For your safety I'm under strict orders to not be alone with you in close quarters if we're not in the field along with the other Avengers."  
Steve shook his head, he was at a loss about what was happening, what was being said. "**** you're not a threat to us."  
"Captain Rogers I must insist you open the doors or I can be in serious trouble. Please." Before Steve could utter a word the doors to the quinjet opened on their own and an unfamiliar woman in a pencil skirt and a blank expression stood. "Agent ****."  
"Ma'am."  
"Are you harassing Captain Roger's again? Do we need another trip to human resources?"  
"No Ma'am."  
The woman's lips pressed firmly together and with distaste looked over **** who stood at attention. "I see you have kept yourself presentable but finding you in such a _situation_ will be brought to the attention of the Director. You are dismissed Agent." **** turned and saluted Steve before walking off the quinjet. "I would recommend Captain Roger's that you refrain from associating with Agent **** beyond what is proper less you find yourself in another distasteful situation as before."  
"Ma'am, **** isn't at fault. I wasn't aware speaking to her in private would cause her problems."  
The woman gestured at interior of the jet, "Captain Roger's this is not the type of private one has for a simple conversation. There are protocols set in place for _private_ conversations and there are many conference rooms with security feed to choose from. A locked jet that I needed to have Mr. Stark break into is improper and a risk to your safety."  
Steve scoffed, his safety? "My safety isn't in question."  
"On the contrary. You are a war hero, a veteran, who assessed the mental stability of a former team-mate and went through the official channels. Of course an assessment would be forthcoming and the situation handled. Tell me Captain, since you lodged your complaint against Agent **** have their been anymore issues regarding her?"  
Steve flexed his fingers into fists as the weight of his actions weighed heavily on him. Heavier than he had expected, wanted. "No Ma'am."  
The woman grinned, "Then you've done your job well Captain. You found a broken soldier and brought them to heel. Now, I must attend to my charge, I assure you Captain she won't bother you or the others again."  
Steve could only stand there, like a dumb ass, as the woman walked away. What had he done? He knew he had made a grave mistake.  
_Broken soldier_... They were all broken. He was just as shattered and yet there he stood fully aware that his team were quietly listening as he had forgotten to disconnect his com.  
✖  
There was many reasons **** dressed the way she did. It was a form of expression that went with her tattoos. There was many reasons why she got her tattoos. Besides being pretty they hid what she had for a long time perceived as failures.  
Her inability to control her life for so long in her youth, the pain, the humiliation, the years of fighting for freedom, scratching and biting, raging, had left her numb and the only way to feel something - anything beyond the storm that bubbled beneath her skin - was to slice into herself.  
If others could mar her and leave their branding then she could as well. Deeper. Harsher. With meaning.  
It took so long for her to _heal_ and survive well enough to _move on_. She could never forget but they had taken her innocence they would not take what was left of her.  
It wasn't fair.  
Life was not fair.  
If they were cold and heartless then so she could. Blood stained her hands and she still spent minutes of the day - sometimes as long as an hour or more - merely washing her hands. She tended to her nails, short, clean, manicured, the lather of soap never enough, bleach didn't do much but leave her skin raw and burn.  
Maybe she was crazy.  
She felt crazy.  
Insane.  
Mad.

  
_**Little Alice fell**_  
 _ **d**_  
 _ **o**_  
 _ **w**_  
 _ **n**_  
 _ **the hOle,**_  
 _ **bumped her head**_  
 _ **and bruised her soul**_  
~~((alice in wonderland qoute's))~~

  
**** remembered a time she was called Alice. The blond wig, the pretty dresses, the cups of tea, and the lucid dreams...  
Still, **** washes her hands in a repetitive familiar motion and refuses to stare into her reflection. There are reasons she sequesters herself in a room with no reflective surface. Once long ago she had tapestries, crystals, candles, books, she doodled and created with hands that were just as skillful as when she killed.

  
**_The little girl just could not sleep because her thoughts were way too deep, her mind had gone out for a stroll and fallen down the rabbit hole._**

  
The water ran hot. It splashed up her wrists and burned the fresh cuts etched on her skin, the rage that boiled beneath her skin needing an outlet less she screamed and screamed. Blood still painted her fingers, they were stained such a beautiful shade, but she made the mistake of looking up and peering into empty eyes.  


_**Oh Alice it's not Wonderland anymore...**_

  
Empty eyes, the stars on her face were gone, the creep of vines no longer poked from the collar of her shirt, yet as she stared she didn't see the plainness of her existence but a similar expression on a much younger face stuck in a cold harsh world not so different from the one she escaped... Was still running from...  


_**Who are you?** _   
_**I hardly know, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.** _

  
No. These were eyes not from this morning. This wasn't a blip in reality but a cavern of dishonesty to herself. **** did not like mirrors but she was superstitious enough to not give in to the impulse to shatter the glass with her fist and use the sharpest piece to gouge at her wrists and scream until death stole her breath away.  
Shutting off the water **** undid her bun and let her hair fall in waves over her shoulders. She was no Avenger.  
There was no redemption.  
She didn't fit in this world so she would create a world where she could smile and forget the sad little girl that still wept deep in her soul. A bloody finger gently swiped on the mirror and for the first time in a long while **** smiled.  
To new beginnings.  
_**Sonrisa**_ {smile}  
Her blood dripped and she drew a crooked simple smile on the mirror before walking away. She tried to be something she clearly wasn't. The world wasn't ready for someone who dressed like her, smiled like her, her moral compass wasn't as black and white as the others.  
From outside the bathroom and through the quiet halls **** pauses in a doorway where her Minder is sitting with a disapproving expression and an older gentleman from human resources. For a moment she contemplates playing this charade but the woman was up and **** didn't care that she was supposed to be _nice_.  
Mission.  
Fury's words from weeks ago: "Take this opportunity to clean house. We need to know why they've infiltrated and you're the closest to the ring leader. Keep it in check ****, I don't need another mess to clean up."  
_Mess_. God she was a fucking mess but **** didn't care about the mission anymore. The best way to get rid of the problem was to stomp on it or shoot it.  
The gun was in her hand and the loud pop of a bullet between the woman's eyes satisfied her more than any sharp stroke on her skin. The elderly man who was typing away hadn't so much as flinched, just glanced down at the body and muttered about calling a porter.  
"Mr. Graham," the elderly man glances up at her, bored. "Please contact Director Fury and let him know I'll be taking out the trash." With that **** went to work.  
Once she was done here she could leave. She was better off alone anyways. Fury was wrong, she was too fucked up to be part of any team.

TBC - 3/4


	4. An Orgasm saves the day...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex doesn't solve your problems but it helps.  
> Sadly me and sex scenes are sad.

**Beautifully Broken**

**4**

> _Be vulnerable._   
>  _I have tried forever to stop being vulnerable. It’s not going to happen, so, fuck it, I’ll just embrace it. And how many times have I let myself be overwhelmed by fear, I can’t even count. But always, I have found the courage to overcome those two and make it._
> 
> _- **Riitta Klint**_

* * *

A silent alarm tripped the system and doors locked, the vents stilled in their function, the lights dimmed and in others as the minutes ticked dimmed completely.  
It was a building wide shut down and the team was scattered in and out. Tony in his labs didn't notice as his music was full blast, Bruce tinkered with his beakers and ignored the world, Steve was in the showers, and Bucky was cooking a stew. The other were away on a mission.  
It had been a quiet day until the fire on the stove flickered off and shields closed off the windows with a rustle and bang catching Bucky's attention.  
FRIDAY didn't answer his calls and the chef knife in his hand was held at his side at the ready. The elevators didn't work, their phones were useless as they couldn't pick up a signal. They had no land line and the two men dressed themselves, ready for a battle, that could possibly be a false alarm.  
Bucky didn't think so and Steve trusted his lovers instinct.  
The door to the elevator opened - it hadn't with them - and **** stood. Blood splatter decorated her skin, her gun was held in one hand, and she was without shoes though her socked feet left a faint imprint of blood as she walked out.  
Bucky watched, cautious, and Steve the more reckless one spoke up "****."  
"Captain." **** sauntered through the living area and rounded the duo refusing to pay them any more attention than necessary.  
It happened quickly - Steve moved to grab at ****, **** pointed her gun at Steve, and Buck was there behind ****, a proper knife at her throat. For a moment they were still, the barrel of the gun pointed between steel-blue eyes, the hard plains of the soldier pressed against her and his hand had settled at her hip. It shouldn't have happened but it did and Steve shifted his gaze from her to the scabbed wounds on her arms that looked too raw, too fresh, too new.  
Had he caused them?  
Was he to blame for her spiral into some place so dark he had never heard of such a thing?  
No. Steve couldn't blame himself for her own actions. He didn't place sharp end of whatever tool she used to her skin and dragged in perfect lines that criss crossed the faded ones beneath.  
Old yet new.  
Uncovered by art that he longed to trace with his fingers and tongue but it was a fantasy at this point. A want. A desire. He could do nothing but, "I'm sorry." Apologise.  
"Put the gun down ****." Warm breadth ghosted over her ear and she could feel him press himself further against her, his blade pressing deeper but she didn't angle her head upwards like he had wanted and skin broke just enough to leave a mark.  
"Your apologies mean nothing Captain." Bucky's fingers gripped her side, "Never apologise when you've done nothing wrong."  
"I shouldn't have gone to Fury without speaking with you first. I would have done that with any other member of my team."  
"I was never part of your team Captain."  
A nose brushed through her disheveled locks, "You are an integral part of the team."  
"Buck?" Steve shook his head imploring his lover to cease his less than proper touching.  
"Fucking insane but it was beautiful." **** gripped her gun tighter, "the way you don't give a fuck and dress how you want, cuss worse than Steve when I'm balls deep, even now I should gut you for pulling a gun out on my soldier but this..." Bucky trailed the knife low, achingly slow until it had settled between her breasts, the fabric catching at the tip. "You wear the same basic shit but under it," his knife caught the fabric and easily sliced upwards. "Lace and fucking leather."  
**** felt cool air touch her bare skin. She was disoriented, this... this wasn't what she had expected... yes the Captain was handsome in a 'All American Apple Pie' sort of way but she'd never considered him as someone who would want **her**.  
Normal. Average. Neither of which she was.  
Bucky though... The man had played a starring role in her masturbatory fantasies. The cool edge of the blade nudged the hard points of her nipples and **** closed her eyes.  
"They're missing?"  
Her eyes flew open - when had she closed them - and **** found Steve closer and her gun still in her hand, propped up on his shoulder. His eyes were intent on her breasts and his touch as he cupped her breasts was gentle enough to have her jump.  
She feels the hard plains of the armored vest and snug against her ass was Bucky himself. **** wasn't sure the last time she felt this... Out of control? Hot? Wet? Confused? Logically she should be running. Legit running and washing away their touches - did she want this? Was this some joke? What...  
"We want you." The knife cuts the rest of the shirt away and those too large hands squeeze her breast and yes she was still holding her gun and yes she lost her mind when fingers squeezed her nipples because they were sensitive points on her body. "Your nipples were so pretty with those bars."  
Bucky ground his cock against her as Steve made quick work of the latch in the front and found that it was just a decoration. Frustrated he plucked the knife from his lovers hand and he ignored the gun that was now pointed at his abdomen. Bucky's lips were gentle and his words were like spiced chocolate as he whispered. Of the two of them, Bucky had the dirtiest mouth.  
"I'll buy you a new one," the knife cut easily, "I want to cover you in diamonds."  
**** felt the ghost of the tip brush against her skin. It was sinful. Erotic. It was worth her saying, "Fuck me." Like the whore she loved to play.  
A cool metal hand wrapped gently around her throat and two hands cupped her breasts. It was hot and she didn't protest as the gun was taken from her and tossed to the sofa. Steve leaned in and **** closed her eyes.  
A moan at her ear opened her eyes and she stared. Heat washed away any hesitation as both men shared a deep soul-searching kiss right there. Right there in front of her and god wasn't that the hottest shit she'd seen in ages.  
Steve's hands were still on her breasts, Bucky tightened his grip and she gasped, eyes fluttering.  
Ages seemed to pass yet they remained there, each trading their own kisses and **** was aching. Her cunt throbbed and she pulled them to the duos shared quarters much to their teasing. "Your bed's bigger."  
Bucky reached out and tugged a strand of hair that was stiff with blood and while a part of him wanted answers he would be a fool to ignore a lady with her tits out willing to fuck them.  
**** wanted them.  
She wanted them and Bucky wasn't going to pass it up. Neither was Steve, they both wanted her. "Shower first and we'll set something special for you."  
**** blinks and rolls with it. She did have blood splotched on her skin and in her hair. "Rose petals?"  
Steve unlocks the door with his thumb and says, "Clean sheets and candles."  
The room is larger than hers with sturdy furniture because they of course had a sitting area amongst the warm wood and leather. A fireplace - fake - was lit and shifted color while above it rested a massive television. Books lined a wall, the closet door were half-opened and shoes tossed lazily beside the door as if quickly toed off.  
The bed - **** would kill for that bed - was massive and sheets crumpled with a pillow resting on the floor.  
It looked messy and well lived in. Unlike her own. "Let me bandage your wounds and Steve will fix the bathroom." Bucky curled their fingers together and tugged her to a spare seat that was buttery soft.  
Steve had left them, carrying a sheet and duck tape into the bathroom much to **** confusion. When Bucky returned with a tackle box as a first aid kit not a word was said as **** self-inflicted wounds were cleaned and bandaged.  
It was odd to sit there, her breasts exposed, shirt and bra ruined at her sides but Bucky had gently picked up her hand and kissed the bandages, their gazes lingering and unwavering. It was an unexpected caring moment and **** had never had anyone tend to her cuts before. At least not like this. There was sadness yes but she didn't feel judged or made to feel ashamed. It was... New. Different.  
As Steve came out a clear waterproof dressing was gently put over her bandage and both men kissed her until her toes curled in her shoes and she was nudged towards the bathroom with twin grins and mischievous eyes.  
What and how had she gotten to this point? Practically half-naked and pressed against the closed bathroom door **** let her eyes wander as she stilled her mind from treading into feelings above lust.  
Her lips parted in a quiet gasp of wonder. The bathroom was larger, it screamed luxury, but above the twin sink where a mirror should sit innocently was a familiar sheet. Checkered and fuzzy from countless washes, it hung just high enough where the barest hint of glass could be used for the tape and tucked behind the long curved necks of the faucets.  
How...  
A deep dull ache rears its ugly head and **** sheds her clothes methodically. The shower is hot and its like water from above and at her sides. The soap sits on a ledge, it's black and the shampoo/conditioner combo are nameless but it does it's job as bubbles and blood swirl down the tiled drain.  
**** eyes burn and she blames it on the side as she ignores the tears that escape her. Did she want this? This didn't feel like a token one night stand. This felt intimate and unique.  
They knew of her aversion to mirrors? It wasn't a hush-hush secret but still... They must have paid attention to her odd quirks to notice something so personal.  
Picking up the spare razor that sat on a higher ledge **** cleaned up her mound. She preferred a neat trim and a brazilian wax on the occasion but a bare pussy was too... Triggering for her.  
Later she'll think beyond the moment. Her mind was too fucked to over think what should be really good orgasms.  
Hopefully.  
Cross fingers.  
God she hoped so.  
✖  
"Roger's, where's ****?" Fury's solo gaze shifted between the cold pillar that was the Winter Soldier and the cross armed indifference of Captain America.  
"Like i said Director Fury, **** is in no position to speak with you or anyone."  
"Of course she isn't." If Fury had hair he'd card his fingers through it in frustration but instead he eyed the standard issue gun that sat innocently enough on the sofa cushions. "Agent **** went rogue and effectively killed 22 SHIELD agents."  
"She got rid of your problem and now she's resting. Leave her be." Bucky rolled his eyes and ignored the frown between his lovers brow. "**** is your bloodhound. We both know her getting rid of them is an H.R. issue."  
"Killing them isn't the problem it's questioning the why. We were still gathering intel into a..." Bucky held up a hand and he tilted his head just so as if listening for something. It was enough for Fury to hush and set his hand on the holster of his side arm.  
Unexpectedly it was Steve who jumped and crossed the short distance to the archway. And managed to make it just in time to keep Fury from seeing who it was but **** wasn't a wall flower and she had slipped under Steve's outstretched arms and all at once Fury **knew** that he just didn't want to know. "Agent ****."  
**** ignored the two men that crowded around her but she didn't care that her hair was still soaked from her shower, she didn't care that she was naked and standing with a towel wrapped around her, she wasn't ashamed of her body but she did care when the Directors gaze drifted down to the bandage on her forearm and an angry huff escapes the man.  
"Director. You'll have my report on your desk in the morning." She doesn't hide herself, just stands there with two soldiers doing their damnedest to keep the towel in place and make her look less appealing compared to the wall of muscle.  
"You'll report to your psychotherapists in the morning. Until further notice you're on medical leave and we'll discuss your options but this doesn't continue." The **this** didn't have to be explained. They all knew what the **this** was. "As for the two of you," both men stood to attention, "one word and the least of your worries would be Wade Wilson on your tail." With that Fury left. The elevator opening and closing without a word.  
"Who's Wade Wilson?" Steve asked, it was familiar but he didn't quite get an answer as Bucky had swooped low and tossed **** over his shoulder and the soldier was storming to their bedroom. **** squealed and tried to protest but Bucky's flesh hand was quick to smack her on the ass.  
✖  
Weird?  
Awkward?  
None of the above.  
**** awoke sore, sticky, and far too warm. The room was dark, the soft glow of the fire-place danced along their sleeping bodies, well theirs, she was up.  
Up and thinking.  
Should she try to slip away?  
More importantly, can she move? Lifting her leg that wasn't weighed down by another body, she dragged her heel and winced. So she could move and it hurt. Not that she would complain because the two men on either side of her were brutes on a mission.  
Orgasms.  
So many orgasms.  
But orgasms didn't mean she should stay there tucked between two men who were together longer than she'd been alive. As if they needed her beyond a different flavor to break up the monotonous.  
_"So beautiful, all mine."_  
 _"Ours!"_  
Sweet talking was no different from dirty talking. It sounded good in the moment but once the sweat cools and the cum is just an itchy patch on your skin the words are forgotten and **** finds it in her to move.  
It's a tedious task, her back twingeing, legs tingling, the pins and needles sensation keep her from crawling away faster but she flexed her toes and a tingle prickles at the back of her neck.  
A part of her wants to turn around and meet the gaze she can feel on her - at least one of the pair was a light sleeper - but another part, the vulnerable part, the part that secretly wants for once to _cuddle_ ignores it. **** doesn't do walks of shame but this doesn't feel like a high-five would break the awkward silence of "what now" because she doesn't know what happens next.  
Managing to slide off the bed and not stumble around, she steals a long shirt from in the closet which does nothing since both men happened to prefer tight clothing and her breasts were... Well they were there. At the very least it covered her butt.  
Padding softly to the door she didn't once look in the direction of the bed preferring to play dumb. Making it outside the doorway, the tower was quiet - all rooms were soundproofed - and she considered maybe a snack or tea before a shower then rest... A hand grabbed the back of her shirt and dragged her backwards.  
The door closed with a soft click - none of the doors slammed on principle - and **** found herself wrapped in arms and face smooshed against a bare chest. Her arms awkwardly dropped to her side and she let herself be held.  
It was... Weird.  
Standing there, her in a stolen shirt, one warm flesh arm and another cool metal arm squeezing her. "Stay. Mine." The words were rough with sleep and his scruffy bearded left her feeling warm.  
In the distance, still drowsy from sleep, corrected automatically. "Ours." The sheets rustled and though **** couldn't see she heard Steve stretch and sigh, "Come back to bed love. Tomorrow we'll talk."  
Bucky's lips finds hers and he's gripping her face with such an open expression - vulnerable - she forgets to breathe when he says, "Ours." And then he's kissing her brow and leading her to where Steve was hugging a pillow, naked and spread out.  
Bucky pulled the shirt off her and tossed it aside. His hands ran briefly over shoulders and waist before nudging her to hop on the bed - which she did - and before she could settle herself Steve abandoned his pillow and all but glued himself to her. Bucky chuckled and slipped behind his taller lover and within minutes they were asleep, even **** who fell first as Steve's soft snores lulled her back to sleep.  
✖  
Natasha watched.  
It wasn't hard to miss the sudden change of stone cold agent to something disturbingly adorable and insane. **** was humming as she braided her hair with a pink ribbon entwined and was brewing fresh coffee to go with the Quiche she had made to go with the sheet trays of pancakes that had been tossed in the oven.  
Never had Natasha heard of baked pancakes.  
Then again she'd never worked with someone like ****. It seemed whatever trial the woman was going through came to an impasse as she was sporting an adult onsie with skulls. On her feet were plush house slippers - zombie head house slippers.  
Because **of course**.  
"Miss Nat would you care for some tea?" Only **** would remember she preferred a strong cup of tea before her first (of many) cups of coffee.  
Only a fool would ask ' _how did you know I was there_ ' "please." So Natasha in her usual chair watched. It was familiar yet nostalgic as **** made tea the old-fashioned way.  
An electric kettle was used to boil water, a teapot sat innocently with a floral delicate design that matched the tea-cup and coaster. **** poured hot water in the teapot, swirling it, dumping it, and chucked in some loose tea leaves before filling the teapot with more water.  
A bright yellow cozy was plucked from a drawer and dropped on top of the pot before **** went on to check on the contents of the oven. "Lemon or blueberry?"  
"Blueberry." Natasha watched as **** climbed on top of the counter to reach atop the refrigerator and from a well hidden box that was quickly tucked away held two scones.  
"These are from that lovely bakery around the corner. I have a standing order." **** whisper after jumping from the counter, "they're addicting."  
Natasha would agree if she wasn't still processing the sudden new changes. The scones were plated, tea was served, a jar of jam was set beside her plate, and quietly she watched as food magically appeared and plated to feed a small army.  
The quiet only disturbed by the clatter of kitchenwares and **** humming. The onsie and braided hair gave the woman an air of innocence that Natasha knew was fleeting. **** hands were as bloody as her own, more so after the carnage of the day before.  
It took a special someone to go through SHIELD and kill without anyone returning fire. Granted the building had been on lockdown which kept employees in place but the security feed showed a single-minded spree with the only hesitation is calmly telling other to move out the way.  
Natasha had hoped Clint would have better luck figuring out the **why** and **how** but until then Natasha watched as **** casually hopped around the kitchen like a deranged bunny with a smile far too sweet.  
The long table reserved for moments like this was scattered with platters of square pancakes, Quiche, sausages, fruit, yogurt, fresh whipped cream, syrups, and decanters of organic expensive coffee much to **** absolute delight as she went around the table and filled cups with juices.  
"Y'all enjoy." And with that **** had left.  
In her onsie.  
In her zombie slippers.  
Out into the real world.  
"That one is a little..." Tony whirled a finger at his temple and no one disagreed. Except Bucky who threw a grape at the man. Steve sipping his coffee, hiding a smile.  
Natasha was sure she saw Steve - **Steve** \- pinch **** butt and that was enough to keep her mind occupied.  
What had happened these past 24 hours?  


End.  
💀👀

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if that was a shitty ending but I cut it off there with an option to expand. With this one I'm not a believer on happily ever after.
> 
> What I wanted to write for part 2 was this:
> 
> She leaves, packs and is sent off, the duo of Soldier try and hunt her down and annoy Fury to tell them where she went. **** needs personal time and I see her more likely to distance herself from the duo when she does return.  
> They're all for being a triad but she's more like "You hated me, we had sex, sex doesn't mean we love each other." And tries to separate herself.  
> If there's a second part it would be a darker Steve/Bucky... **** would probably get a kick out it. Lol.


End file.
